Sunday, March 1, 2015

"Written In March" by William Wordsworth

"Late Winter Moon, March" by Peter Fiore

The cock is crowing, 
The stream is flowing, 
The small birds twitter, 
The lake doth glitter 
The green field sleeps in the sun; 
The oldest and youngest 
Are at work with the strongest; 
The cattle are grazing, 
Their heads never raising; 
There are forty feeding like one! 

Like an army defeated 
The snow hath retreated, 
And now doth fare ill 
On the top of the bare hill; 
The plowboy is whooping- anon-anon: 
There's joy in the mountains; 
There's life in the fountains; 
Small clouds are sailing, 
Blue sky prevailing; 
The rain is over and gone!

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